I've never apologised to a woman before. Hell, I've never even really spoken to a woman in any personal way whatsoever. I don't even have to talk to get them into bed. I'm not arrogant enough to believe that that says anything about me; it's about the club and the patch. Philly gets more action than any of us, and he's not exactly a looker. They just drop themselves in our laps, ready and willing. Even the sex itself is silent on my part. It's doing them from behind so that you don't have to pretend to be interested in what they look like. It's rolling your eyes as they scream the place down when you're not even bothering to try and make it good for them. As long as it's warm and wet, it's never mattered who it's attached to. If I'm feeling generous, or they gave me a particularly good blowjob, I might make an effort to get them off too. But I don't really care either way.

I've never cared, and I've never had any kind of intimacy to draw experience from. So I've been driving myself crazy since she stormed out of the clubhouse, trying to think of some way to apologise. To say I'm so fucking sorry, and I was being a jealous prick even though I had no right to be because it's not like I have any claim on her. Hell, Lenni isn't the type of girl who would let anyone stake a claim on her. She's fierce and independent, and would probably rip my cock off for even thinking the word 'claim' in the same sentence as her name. I had no right to be jealous, and I definitely had no right to deliberately drop her in it with Skids, just because I was pissed that she has more control over my dick than I do. And she hasn't even touched it. Yet.

Apologising to her matters. It matters in a way that nothing ever has before. She isn't a one-hit wonder - you know the type, you tap that once and then hope it wanders away. She's... Fuck if I know, but she's something. Something else. Something more. And she makes me want to be more. I'm a pig, I know that, and I've never pretended to be anything different. People know what they're getting. But with her, I want to be better. I want to be good enough for her; I want to be worth it because I know that she is.

I'm brought out of my musing when Jay sits on the stool next to mine, with a fucking shit-eating grin covering his face.

"I've never seen you like this," he says, his grin never wavering.

"Fuck you."

"I mean, have you ever even spoken to her? I haven't seen a single conversation between the two of you."

"That's bullshit," I snort. "Of course we've spoken."

"Yeah?" he asks, and I can't tell if he's genuinely surprised or if he's still taking the piss.

"Yeah," I say, nodding once. "I talked to her about those pricks chasing her."

"What else?" he asks, and I pause, because fuck.

That was the extent of our conversations. All of our communication has been in facial expressions. A raised eyebrow as an answer when she talks to me; a smirk from her when she catches my gaze somewhere it shouldn't be. What the fuck? I wrack my brain trying to think, because surely there must be more, but then Jay is laughing his ass off, and I'm coming up blank.

"You're so fucked," he finally manages to wheeze out in between laughs.

I nod again, because really, what else can I do?

***

I'm still trying to think of a way to apologise when Jay is talking to the manager of a warehouse we provide security for, several hours later. Somehow I don't think saying a simple 'sorry' will cut it. I'm thinking so hard about what to say to her, that I move on autopilot as we ride towards the exit of the industrial estate. I'm thinking so hard that when Jay suddenly swerves to the side of the road, I almost drop the bike as I swing it round to follow him. I'm about to jump off and beat the stupid fucker for almost killing me when I see why he stopped.

And then I'm not thinking about apologising anymore. I decide I don't need to. I was well within my rights because even if she doesn't know it yet, Lenni is mine. Damn straight, no one else should be able to look at her when she's half naked and moving her body like some kinda goddess. Hell, I wanna kill the guys right now for looking at her, even when she's fully clothed in tight-as-sin jeans and her jacket. We can't even see her face because it's covered with her helmet, but fuck me if I don't wanna gouge their eyes out for looking anyway.

I've watched a lot of porn in my time. A lot. But none of it has ever gotten me as hard as I am right now - watching her as she throws that bike around like it's nothing. How the hell she rides in those heels, I'll never know. But then I don't care because, holy shit, she's doing a fucking handstand on it! While it's moving! Watching her like this, I'm pretty sure I could cum without even touching myself. I almost visibly cringe when I feel the dampness of the pre-cum against my thigh where my dick is throbbing. See, even my dick knows she's mine. Or I'm hers. Hell, both.

I'm so busy taking deep, shuddering breaths and trying to fend off an imminent orgasm, that it takes me a second to realise she's stopped and is now sitting on the bike, facing us all and revving the engine like some kinda challenge. From the corner of my eye, I see Jay turn to say something to Skids, but I can't tear my eyes away from Lenni. I'm terrified that if I even look away for a second, she'll disappear again. She can hate me for the rest of her life if she really wants to, but something deep inside of me needs to see her, to know she's safe, to know she's there. Yep, so fucked.

I can't look away even as Jay crawls his bike towards her and she pulls her helmet off, shaking her hair out as she does so. I can't look away when he turns back to us and spins his finger to tell us we can go. I can't look away even as the others move out, because she's fucking dreaming if she thinks I'm riding away from her. I'm grateful for the shades that hide my eyes, because I can't look away even as she scowls at me, letting me see the hurt and anger in her gaze as she directs it straight at me. The shades hide the way my eyes widen before my brow furrows, and I'm grateful that she can't see the effect she has on me. She can't see the way that scowl sends ice cold splinters straight into my gut. The fact that I deserve it doesn't make it hurt any less.

Before I know it, she's put the helmet back on and is flying past me. I fumble to turn the bike back on, wondering what the fuck sent her out of here so fast. But then Jay passes me with a wide grin and shakes his head, and I can breathe again as I realise she's okay.

She easily beats us back to the clubhouse, and when we pull in she looks up from checking her nails with a smirk on her face. I watch as Jay walks towards her, and my teeth grind together when he puts his hands on her waist and steps so close that his stubble catches in her hair as he looks down at her. But then he's lifting her up and throwing her over his shoulder, chuckling as she screams. I open the door for him as he walks towards me, and the sly bastard pointedly looks at her ass - which is so close to his cheek that he could move an inch and be kissing it - and then looks at me and winks. I shake my head and follow him to the bar, but make sure to keep my distance as he sits her on top of it. Banjo hands me a beer, and with a small nod from him, I know that at least he's forgiven me for my fuck up this morning.

I don't turn to look in her direction until Skids follows her to one of the tables. Whatever she says has Skids looking murderous for a second before he wipes his hand over his face and his gaze softens. I turn away as I hear Banjo clear his throat.

"Don't fuck this up," he says, and to anyone else, it would sound like a demand, but his brow creases and I know it's a plea. "I like her. Really like her."

My grip on the beer tightens but he shakes his head quickly and I relax.

"Not like that," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Look at her," he says, and I do. "When was the last time someone made Skids look that happy? I can't think of a time he's laughed when it hasn't been 'cos we've fucked shit up for someone."

"Me either," I murmur, my eyes following the Irishman as he leaves the table and joins Pest and Philly at the end of the bar.

"And Jay. He's like he was before. Before Afghanistan. He smiles, he jokes, and his ghosts don't haunt him so bad when she's around."

I raise an eyebrow and turn to look back at him. "You're a sensitive fucker, ain't you?" I send him a grin so he knows I'm kidding, but he laughs anyway and nods.

"The ladies love it," he winks, before turning and grabbing another beer.

Jay sits on the stool next to me and nudges me with his elbow, jutting his chin towards Lenni. "You should go talk to her."

I scoff and turn away from her. "And say what?"

He shrugs. "Anything. Maybe 'hi', or 'sorry', or 'what can I say, I'm a fucking prick.' Any of them would work." He grins before ducking as my fist flies to the space where his head was a second ago.

"Nah," I say, shaking my head and shrugging like it's not a big deal. But it is, it so fucking is, and that's what makes it impossible. I don't know what to say to her, and I'll end up making it worse.

Jay shrugs too, before grabbing another bottle from Banjo and heading towards Lenni's table. I watch as his eyes drop down to her cleavage and he licks his lips, and I'm plotting his death. It'll be slow. So fucking slow, and I'll make it hurt. I'll make him beg and I'll love every fucking second of it. But then his eyes find mine, and I can tell from the twitch of his lips as he leans in close to her that that's why he's doing it. He's pissing me off deliberately because he knows I'm too much of a pussy to go over there and do anything about it. He knows I'd never let her see how messed up she already has me.

He pulls her up by the hand and leads her to an empty space near the pool table, before turning her and pulling her back against him. His chin rests on her shoulder and I watch as his hand moves to her waist, his fingers slipping under her top. He's pushing his luck, because I'm picturing everything I'm doing to do to that hand if he doesn't get it the fuck off her, now. I'm going to peel the skin away slowly. Then I'm going to pluck each and every tendon and nerve away from it, taking my time and making it hurt. I look up when I feel eyes on me, and my cock twitches when she holds my gaze, almost like it recognises her and wants to wave.

Her eyes drop to my throat as I swallow a long pull of my beer. And fuck me, I nearly cum right there when her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip. I can't look away from her until she closes her eyes, and when mine find Jay again, the look on his face just screams cocky. Especially when she reaches up to kiss his cheek as the song finishes, and definitely when he slaps her ass and leaves his eyes on it even as she turns round to flip him off.

She comes to the bar and stands so close to me that I can smell her every time I breathe in. It's that sweet, subtle scent that is just her. I know that this is my chance to say something, to apologise, to grovel. She stays right there, even as Skids walks away, and it's just the two of us. She turns her body slightly towards the others, but she doesn't move away, and I can feel her brush against my knee with the movement of her breathing.

"When are you going to tell him?" Well, shit. That wasn't what I wanted to say; not at all. But she turns to look at me and I figure it was as good a start as any.

"Excuse me? Tell him what?"

I don't know her well enough to know if her tone is confrontational or not, but she still doesn't leave, so I press on. "Whatever it is you're running from."

Her eyebrows shoot up and her eyes widen, but I'm not sure if she's surprised anyone noticed, or if she wants an argument. "What the fuck would you know?"

Right, an argument it is, then. I take a deep breath and fight the irritation that swamps my body. This was supposed to be my chance to apologise, and there's no fucking way I'm going to make it worse by arguing with her. I put my bottle back down and stand up, fully prepared to walk away rather than piss her off more. What I don't expect is for her hand to shoot out and grab my wrist, stopping me before I can even take a step. The hairs on my arms stand up at the brush of her skin against mine, but I ignore the shiver that threatens to roll down my spine.

"Sorry. That was uncalled for," she says quietly, and I sit back down on the stool.

"You still haven't unpacked; your place was on a short-term lease and you didn't have a phone. You're either hiding or running. Or both." I'm surprised I'm managing full sentences, to be honest. With the way my heart is pounding, I'm struggling to find the breath to survive, let alone talk as well.

"I'll tell him when he needs to know." Her eyes are begging me, and I'm torn.

Half of me wants to demand that she tells him now. Tells me now, so that we can protect her. But the other half of me is just so damn grateful that she's talking to me, and not trying to make me drop down dead with a single look, that I'll do anything to keep it that way. I nod and can see her body relax as she sighs. "Whatever it is, you're safe with us. You're safe here."

She turns away again, but her back presses against my knee, and I'm not sure if she intends for me to hear her when she speaks quietly. "I'm not safe anywhere for long."

My entire body tenses and my instincts are screaming at me to demand answers, to not let her move, or even breathe until she tells me why. Tells me what the fuck has her so spooked. I ignore them though, and drop it for now, finding myself distracted by the tip of an angel's wing that peeks out from behind her hair. I'm fully in control of myself this time as I reach a finger up to trace the ink. I smirk with complete satisfaction as I watch the goosebumps break out on her skin, following the trail of my finger. Her breath hitches and I almost want to cheer at the fucking pride I feel, knowing that she's just affected as I am.

"Can I see?" I ask, and when she nods I lift her top up, bunching it up under her arms so I can see her entire back, minus the inch strip that's covered by a black lacy bra strap. I have to take a deep breath to steady myself as I stroke my fingers down her spine, brushing over the edge feathers of the wings. When I get to that goddamn snake that's barely visible over the waist of her jeans, I have to close my eyes as I'm assaulted by the same images I got from her dancing. Only this time, it's Jay's cocky smirk I see, as he flicks his forked tongue out towards her panties.

My dick hurts, it's so fucking painful, and I'm doing some serious battle with myself right now. There's nothing I want more in my life than to pull those jeans down, bend her over the bar and show her who she fucking belongs to. I wouldn't even care that the others would watch. Hell, let them watch, let them all see that she's fucking mine, and I'll kill any one of them who thinks otherwise.

The only thing that stops me is that she deserves more than that. She doesn't need me pissing all over her and marking my territory. I know that I have to be smart with her because if I push too far, and let my instincts take over, she'll be gone before I can blink. And I don't know how any of us would cope with her being gone, never mind just me.

I have to get out of here now. I can feel her twitch every time my fingers move, and it's getting harder and harder not to grip her hips and make her beg me to take her, deny her that release she craves until she agrees to be mine, and only mine.

"Fuck." It slips out as a sigh; I didn't even mean to say it, but it brings me to my senses and I pull her top back down, covering her glorious skin, before walking out of the clubhouse and draining my smoke in one long inhale. I lean against the wall and tip my head back, closing my eyes. My hand has a mind of its own as it reaches down and palms my cock hard, trying desperately to relieve the pressure just for a second. I almost shove my hand into my boxers and work myself to release right there, but the thought that she might walk out here and spot me wanking like a fucking devil, all because I touched her back for a few seconds, brings some clarity to my thoughts. Although, to be honest, even if she opened that door right now, I'm so close that I could be done before she even turned her head to look this way. But it's messy, and for fuck's sake, I'm not that guy. I can wait. I hope.

As soon as I can though, without making it look obvious, I'm locking myself in my room and taking my time. I'll be picturing that perfectly smooth skin as I run my fingers and lips over it, my tongue flicking out to taste the outline of every tattoo that covers it. I'll be picturing myself fucking worshipping every bit of her, and it will have to do for now, until I can have the real thing. Because I will get her. I'll get her, and I'll fucking keep her if it's the only thing in my fucked up life that I ever damn well achieve.